


Start with Bellamy Blake

by Polpetta



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Also my first fanfic ever, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Basically, Bellarke, Canon Compliant, F/M, Season 3 Finale, So i'm really emotional on this, There's torture in this, What if Murphy didn't arrive in time, What-If, but nothing too much, i think, s03e15
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-28
Updated: 2018-02-28
Packaged: 2019-03-24 23:02:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13821315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Polpetta/pseuds/Polpetta
Summary: “No..” Clarke whispers.An idea! She needs an idea, dammit!The barrel under his feet sways.“Don’t…” her voice barely more than a murmur.“The passphrase Clarke”“I can’t! I-I can’t!” silent tears roll down her cheeks. She feels like she’s losing her mind.They’ll kill him! They’ll kill him and she can’t stop them!A loud clang and Bellamy’s feet are dangling in the air.





	Start with Bellamy Blake

_“Start with Bellamy Blake”_

A teardrop falls down Clarke’s dirty and bloody cheek, but she barely notices. All she can think about is that her mother just gave the order to bring Bellamy so that she can torture him, all because she didn’t give up and told them the passphrase.

_Ascende superius_. These two words should save everyone, yet they’re about to make her hurt – even if indirectly, she still is to blame – one of the most important people in her life. Or worse, because she knows A.L.I.E. will stop at nothing: they had proof just a few days ago with Raven, and then on Luna’s rig. She wishes she could do something, say something to keep them from doing it, but she’s only capable of rasping for air and an idea. Automatically her mind goes back to no more than a few weeks ago, when Roan kidnapped her. Bellamy appeared out of nowhere in the hideout, dressed up like an ice nation’s warrior she almost confused him with one of them but then when he kneeled down and looked at her every hesitation vanished. His eyes, so similar to black onyx, brought back memories and sensations she thought she had wiped away, feelings such as happiness relief and affection she thought she couldn’t possibly feel again. Those same eyes that for a very long time have been crowding her dreams: they were understanding, filled with a forgiveness she didn’t – doesn’t – believe she deserves. Eyes that in that moment were so focused on hers, on the ropes cutting into her wrists, the piece of cloth preventing her from properly articulate any clear word – but not his name – and on the blood, hers and not, smeared on her face that he didn’t notice Roan behind him. She begged for his life. _“No please, please don’t! I’ll do anything! I’ll stop fighting just please don’t kill him!”_. These were the exact words, but now.. can she do that again? Can she beg for his life?

 

 

_“Let’s go. She wants Bellamy.”_

He hardly has the time to realize those words’ meaning that two sets of arms force him to stand up and move toward the dark passageway. Octavia tries to stop them from taking him away, or at least to understand what’s happening, but she gets hit in the stomach and Bellamy can’t do anything but reassure her with a “It’s okay O” they both know is a giant lie. But he can’t help it, she’s his little sister: as long as she’s okay he doesn’t care about anything else, not even his own life. That’s why he doesn’t put up a fight while they lead him into the elevator and shuts his eyes as the doors are closed and they start the ascent.

He’s well aware of why they’re taking him up there: Clarke didn’t reveal the passphrase and because they need her alive they’ll torture him. He’s not afraid – not for himself at least –, physical pain doesn’t scare him.

The climb is relatively short and he’s instantly shoved out and led to the Commander’s throne room. It’s ironic how a while before he rushed there in order to save his people from a trap, even though it turned out to be a trick, and now he’s tied and going up against God only knows what. As soon as they open the doors he sees her and a surge of anger takes over his mind: arms, legs and neck are secured to a metal structure by leather straps, the blond hair disheveled, some tears slip away from her ocean eyes just to roll down her dirty cheeks, leaving behind white trails joining old ones, and on her chest two trickles of blood slowly drip.

The moment Bellamy comes in Clarke’s eyes dart on him and carefully watch him, memorizing every detail: the guard’s uniform is slightly ripped and is stained with blood – his? – on some places; his face is smudged too, covered in bruises and cuts, but despite everything his gaze doesn’t waver, not even for a second; it’s strong, proud and determined.

Now that their eyes meet she realizes she’s crying, but before Bellamy’s gaze can speak for him the two who dragged him there force him to move towards one of those crosses they saw entering Polis. He tries to resist, throws a couple punches but it’s completely useless and eventually he ends up along the wall to Clarke’s left, his arms immobilized by thick chains. From here he notices Jaha and Abby aside with a grounder girl he deduces is Ontari. The doctor, as she sees Bellamy has been restrained, takes something from a black bag and approaches him. She turns to Clarke showing off the little blade with its grip already bloodied, and says to her: “What’s the passphrase?”

Clarke gasps. She doesn’t know what to do. The only thing she’s absolutely aware of is the scalpel, red with her blood, in her mother’s hand. She’s about to take a breath to speak when a deep voice stops her.

“Clarke”

He doesn’t say anything else, but she senses an urgency that forces her to glance back at him. Like always those onyx eyes convey so much more than words: resolutely they say “Don’t do it”.

Bellamy saw hesitation in Clarke’s features and he knew exactly what thoughts were crowding her mind, for that reason he decided that he would choose. He wasn’t going to let his friends be doomed because of him, even if it costs his life.

Clarke understands. They’ve always talked like this: with a simple glance, a gesture noticed only by their observant eyes, they made hard decisions and drew up dangerous plans. Now her eyes say: “I’m sorry” and his: “I know. It needs to be done.”

Abby, seeing the new strength in her daughter’s eyes instilled by the man, instantly nods to a grounder who takes off his jacket and shirt. Clarke barely has time to hear the sound of cloth being torn up that a deep red cut appears on Bellamy’s chest. He lets out a muffled groan promising himself, as he sees the watery eyes before him, to not let himself being taken by surprise again, otherwise it’ll all be worthless.

Jaha, who had been standing aside so far, walks away from Ontari and speaks.

“Clarke, don’t make Bellamy suffer like this. You know exactly how to stop it. How long do you think he could resist? He’s strong but to what extent? Do you really want to have his blood on your hands too? The knowledge that he too died because of you?”

The former chancellor shows no sign of stopping his questions. Each sentence is poisonous stab to the girl’s heart, and Bellamy is well aware of it. He knows Clarke blames herself for everything that happened: the dead of Mount Weather, Tondc’s , Finn, and now Lexa too, are her responsibility.. they’re all burdens she’ll have on her conscience forever, and their blood will never wash off from her hands. And he, because of his destructive anger, didn’t fail to remind her.

He regrets what he said to her, it’s one of the things he regrets the most.

_“You’re not in charge here, and that’s a good thing because people die when you’re in charge”_

He hated himself as he said that and doesn’t think he’ll ever stop. And now Jaha is doing precisely the same thing. It’s a psychological torture to her, and it’s agony to Bellamy seeing her suffer like that knowing large part of that pain was inflicted by his words.

Clarke can’t raise her eyes neither on Thelonious, nor on her mother, nor on Bellamy. Her lips are firmly shut to prevent her from sobbing, even though everything he said is the undeniable truth; she doesn’t want to give A.L.I.E. the satisfaction of seeing those words’ effect on her.

“Tell us the passphrase Clarke, and all this will be over”

Given her daughter’s silence Abby goes back to direct her attention to the boy, her eyes cold and empty as she places the scalpel on his chest again, this time very – too much – slowly, and he weakly holds a groan back.

 

They don’t know how long they went on.

Seconds feel like minutes, minutes hours and hours days. The light outside had died out for what seems like forever.

Bellamy’s torso is covered in deep cuts – each one matched with cries of pain, sometimes one louder than the other – from which ooze red droplets, a large blood pool has formed by his feet, his worn out face is bruised all over and beaded with sweat, arms and legs tremble slightly because of the effort of maintaining the same positions for hours. The same goes for Clarke: her limbs are aching, thanks to the wounds on her chest even breathing hurts, her eyes burn with the tears she held back and betray exhaustion.

They’re alone, only two men were left outside the closed door to keep an eye on them, the oppressing silence interrupted only by shallow and labored – especially Bellamy’s – breaths.

“Are you okay?”

It’s him who breaks the quiet.

“Yeah” is the hasty answer. It’s nothing like that, they both know it, but generally that little lie they said too many times at least comforts one of them.

“Clarke..”

He wants her to look up, to not avoid his eyes like she lately does. Not now that could be one of their last chances to talk.

“You rather, how do you feel?”

“Never been better” he jokes to break the tension.

She looks up with a sudden burst, allowing him see her face and leaving him speechless.

“How can you joke? How can you still talk to me, after everything they’re doing to you because of me?” she raises her voice at each word.

He never saw her fall apart like this. She doesn’t even look like herself: her lower lip trembles out of control in the attempt to muffle the sobs shaking her chest, salty tears rapidly roll down without stopping, and it’s like the ocean in her eyes has overflowed from the limits she herself imposed, pouring out the feelings she had kept hidden inside until now. Her eyes say she won’t easily forget what Bellamy had to endure that day. Cuts upon cuts, each deeper than the previous and some even close to important veins, her mother’s hand caused; the blood dripping slowly and drawing grim patterns on his chest; his body’s tremble as he prepares for a new wave of pain; every single breath held back to keep from screaming.. all of this will be burned in her memory until she dies.

Knowing this hurts more than every inflicted wound. It’s a suffering he wishes he could take on himself to lighten Clarke’s heart, which carries way too many burdens.

Now it’s his turn to avoid her gaze. He doesn’t know what to say.

“It’s not your fault” ? “It’s my decision” ? None of this would make her feel better, make her stop crying – she doesn’t even try holding back anymore –. Once again Clarke’s suffering becomes Bellamy’s, and it’s atrociously painful.

“Clarke..” he looks in her eyes now.

“What?” voice trembling and tears rolling down, but she doesn’t hide.

“Remember when we pulled that lever in Mount Weather? We did it together. It was the only choice we had to save everybody, and we did it. Now we have to do the same, and we will. Together. It’s our only choice and we can’t condemn everyone.”

It’s hard to recall those moments. They still haunt both of them. Sometimes Bellamy thinks he can see their faces: Maya, her father, Lovejoy’s son, even Dante. Then he realizes they’re nothing more than their ghosts tormenting his mind.

“Bellamy, I’m scared..” Clarke admits lowering her head.

“You don’t have to worry, they won’t do anything to you” and he’s sure of that. She’s too important for them to risk her life in any way.

“I wasn’t talking about me..” she goes on.

Bellamy’s scared too. He’s afraid he’ll never see Octavia again, that he’ll never have the chance to make it up to her for all the horrible things he’s done, that he’ll never see his friends’ faces.. that he’ll never see Clarke’s face again.

“You won’t get rid of me so easily” he says, with a bittersweet smile.

In that moment Abby and Jaha burst into the room, followed by a man from Arkadia. He walks up to Bellamy and looks at him with the cold and blank stare typical of who took the chip.

Clarke doesn’t miss his presence; he seems massive and threatening near Bellamy, even though he’s just a few inches taller.

“What’s the passphrase Clarke?” asks Abby like an automaton.

“I can’t tell you” she answers determined.

Bellamy gave her new courage with his words: he reminded her she’s not alone in this, because he’ll always be by her side. And she trusts him.

At Jaha’s nod the man starts hitting him with hard punches. He wasn’t ready for this and he’s caught off guard by the pain in the jaw, immediately followed by a blow in the pit of the stomach. After five blows the man stops and Thelonious repeats the question; the following silence is replaced by the punches’ thud and Bellamy’s moans in a matter of seconds. His eyes are firmly shut and his heart beats in his chest like a pneumatic drill; some slashes that had closed up are now losing the precious blood, he even feels its taste in the mouth and some flowing down his temple.

“Stop! No, stop!”

It’s Clarke. She didn’t even realize what she was saying until it came out of her mouth. But she can’t keep watching and do nothing as Bellamy’s being beaten senseless. She feels her heart crushing at each punch and at each wince of pain appearing on his face.

“You know how to stop him” Abby answers.

“I-I..”

She’s hesitating.

“Don’t.. say it..” Bellamy chokes struggling to look up.

Another blow hits his stomach and makes him cough. Clarke sees horrified blood spilling from his lips, scarlet red by now, and smudging his chin. Right after that two other punches strike at his face and suddenly his legs collapse and he blacks out.

“Bellamy!” Clarke screams terrified, struggling to free herself and reach him.

“He’s still alive” Abby coldly announces “Think carefully about what you’re going to do as he recovers”

And the three of them leave the room.

“Bellamy!” his name’s echo reverberating through the room, but he doesn’t move.

“Oh God.. Bellamy open your eyes!”

Clarke sobs as she speaks. What has she done? She provoked them, pushed them to use other and more painful measures to get her to talk, and Bellamy’s the one who has to pay the price.

“I know you can hear me, wake up!”

The world comes muffled to his ears. He hears a voice but can’t recognize it or understand what it’s saying. He slowly regains his consciousness and each part of his body starts again to feel the pain from the blows: the cuts on his chest burn, he feels his face swollen, stomach begging mercy for those vicious punches. How long has it been? He doesn’t understand anything. In his head there’s only chaos. It’s like the world’s spinning around him and he can feel it even without opening his eyes; it feels like being again on the dropship, when they landed on Earth six months ago. Attempting to fight back a wave of sickness he tries to raise his heavy eyelids, with no result. Now the words he still hears are clearer: they’re saying his name and spurring him to open his eyes.

The voice weeps and he feels like he knows it, but can’t remember. In his swirling mind flow the images of some faces: Octavia, Jasper, Monty, Raven, Miller, Murphy… even Murphy!

“Bellamy! I’m begging you open your eyes!”

It’s Clarke.

His eyes snap open and his mouth too, attempting to breathe better but all he gets is a choked gasp.

He finally woke up. Relief hits her with strength beyond words. It wasn’t so strong when she found out he didn’t get killed during the rockets’ explosion, not even when she saw him coming back to Arkadia with Octavia, Monroe and a girl from Factory Station, not even when she heard his voice through the radio, not even when she saw him opening the door in the reapers’ tunnel after days they lost contact with him. Comfort is such that she can’t breathe. Bellamy’s eyes immediately fall upon Clarke: there’s a shaky and hesitant smile on her lips and her eyes roam relentlessly on his face, as if she’s making sure he’s not an illusion.

“Bellamy..” she sobs “how are you feeling?”

“The head’s a mess and my vision’s a little blurry”

“You must have a slight concussion” analyzes the doctor in her.

“That guy hits really hard..” now Bellamy can stand on his legs, cutting his aching arms some slack.

The door bursts open letting in Jaha and two men, a grounder and one from Arkadia, who are placing a lit brazier near him as Thelonious talks to Clarke.

“Clarke we need the passphrase”

She looks at him with defying eyes, resolved to not breathe a single word. Meanwhile, a long-bladed dagger is placed between the brazier’s burning coals.

“Don’t make me do this” Jaha says reacting to Clarke’s gaze with just as much strength.

“Your obstinacy will only extend his pain” and points at Bellamy.

As these words were a signal one of the two men pulls the red-hot blade out and with a sudden move places it on his right side.

He can’t hold back the screams. His whole body has a spasm for the pain: he feels like he never suffered more than this; what he endured in Mount Weather is a caress in comparison. The smell of his own burning flesh overwhelming invades his nostrils and his mind can’t understand anything but the sensation of being completely on fire. At last the blade is removed leaving behind a bright red mark and his body in agony.

The former chancellor approaches again the girl who had looked away and shut her wet eyes, unable to witness that torture.

“So, Clarke?”

Slowly – almost as she isn’t brave enough – she raises her head towards Bellamy: he looks like he’s on the verge of losing consciousness again, pale and covered in sweat, with his face strained because of the pain…his shouts still ring in Clarke’s ears and mind.

How can she force him to bear all this?

Thelonious reads her silence as a refusal and once again the blade finds Bellamy’s skin, and he doesn’t have the strength to hold back his scream.

Clarke sees the world flickering through the tears and, even if she knows she can’t really put an end to that pain, she can’t help but try to make them stop.

“Please stop! Stop!”

Clarke’s shouts grow louder than Bellamy’s earsplitting ones, but he can’t do anything except acknowledge them in that little corner of his mind that’s not soaked up in pain. Each passing second the heat becomes more and more unbearable, it almost feels like his skin is peeling off leaving his bare flesh at fire’s mercy.

After what feels like ages the red-hot steel leaves him, allowing his vocal cords to take a break and letting his mind and body recover. Clarke’s throat is sore too; she didn’t stop screaming , not even for a second.

“Maybe if you knew what he’s withstanding you’d be more motivated..” suggests Jaha and, at his sign the torturer moves closer to her carrying the bright orange dagger in his hand.

“Don’t you dare...”

It’s Bellamy who said that. His words are unwavering, strong and intimidating; she looks wide-eyed at his features that, despite everything he just went through, are proud and show no sign of suffering or doubt.

When he heard what Jaha threatened something in his brain snapped and he instantly turned and said those words. Unfortunately it’s not a fair fight because he’s tied up and wounded while that man can do to him whatever he wants – and most importantly he can do it to Clarke. He sees her over there, tears in her blue eyes, glistening and widened for his unexpected reaction, watching him with her lips slightly parted. He can’t allow it: each of her injuries is painful as a stab – he angrily eyes the dried blood smearing on her pale skin, wishing to make pay for it whoever dared to touch her –; he wishes he were free so he could come between her and the dagger, defend her from that pain, take it on himself if necessary. Instead he can’t do anything but watch helpless.

Clarke’s heart throbs faster and faster as the man comes closer: she doesn’t want to look weak so she keeps staring in front of her and her lips tight in a thin line. She doesn’t even blink when her shirt is lifted leaving her abdomen exposed, not even when Thelonious’ voice announces: “Last chance”.

And then she feels it, just below her stomach. All escapes form her lips is a moan as she maintains control over her body. She bites her lips until she tastes blood on her tongue – some drops stain the edge of her mouth –, the fists behind her back clenched shakingly, but her eyes won’t falter. The heat vanishes and she catches her breath along with Bellamy who, not taking his eyes off of her, had kept growling rambling words:

“Don’t you dare touch her! Damn, stop! I’ll make you pay for this!”

Thelonious, on whose face for a moment had appeared a grimace of frustration, speaks again.

“Now that you had a taste of it, keep in your mind what you’re inflicting on him with your obstinacy” he says.

The two men get ready to reheat the blade..

 

 

They’ve completely lost track of the time. From outside they can hear the sound of pouring rain and the rumble of thunders; a full-on storm. The only light in the throne room is supplied by the candles and Bellamy couldn’t guess whether it’s day or night. The two of them alternated periods of wakefulness and unconsciousness – too anxious to sleep and too worn out to stay alert –, but now Clarke’s sleeping restless and he’s quietly watching her.

How much have they changed since the last time it happened? How much has the world changed in just three months? They’re shattered because of what they had to do, all the bad choices they made, the horrors they saw and faced, the harm they did to each other. And yet here they are, still themselves.

Just like the last time as Bellamy’s mind runs free, Clarke wakes up fixing her ocean eyes into his. For a moment a lightning floods the room with white light.

They aren’t talking but that silence’s comforting and familiar; they keep observing each other and speak through their gazes, barely aware of time passing or of the storm. It’s like everything stopped inside that safe and welcoming bubble. They know they should think up a way to break free – they can’t stay there forever! – and retrieve the Flame, but the restrained wrists ferociously remind both they can’t.

Despite that absurd situation, the danger they’re into, to Clarke the essential thing is that Bellamy’s fine, and to Bellamy is that Clarke’s safe: in that moment nothing else matters. None of them would have thought six months prior the other one would become so important to them. When they first met they simply were the _brave princess_ and the _rebel king_. Feels like a lifetime since then.. since when everything was still simple, when they all were full of hope and faith in humanity’s unknown home, in the Earth.

“You should rest” Clarke says, without taking her eyes off of Bellamy’s onyx ones.

“I’m fine” minimizes him wrapping up the conversation.

Silence falls once again and they let themselves get carried away by the flow of thoughts.

The door opens with a loud bang breaking the quiet and suddenly everything seems chaotic. Abby and two grounders burst into and, without any waste of time, the woman stands in front of her daughter while one of the two men goes back and forth from one side to the other of the room almost feverishly.

“Clarke we need the passphrase” the doctor says severe “This is the last chance you have to tell us. If you don’t  the consequences will be irreparable”

Her mother steps aside pointing at the grounder who’s getting closer from the other side of the room: he’s knotting a thick white rope. Initially she doesn’t understand the threat – it’s just a piece of rope! – but then she takes it in and it’s like her mind went blackout; her brain can’t elaborate a single logical thought and everything but the just knotted noose has faded.

“Don’t worry, it’s not for you”

_“It’d be better if it was”_ the only thing she wants to say can’t come out of her numb mouth. She’s only capable of looking at the man who’s about to be hanged because of her.

Now that awareness of what’s going to happen to him violently occupies his mind, Bellamy’s heart races and there’s a knot in his throat that takes his breath away. While the men arrange the rope on a beam Abby keeps on urging Clarke. A part of her brain furiously seeks a way out, the other one instead is frozen because of the shock. How can she save him? Would she condemn everyone to being A.L.I.E.’s slaves? What she knows for sure is that she can’t lose him. She can’t watch him too die.

The chains keeping his arms immobilized are removed and Bellamy’s body falls forward barely standing on his feet, like a puppet whose strings are cut off. He’s too weak to put up a real fight against the hands clenched on his limbs yet he doesn’t intend to surrender and die without doing something, he’s not going to give up. Clarke watches his tired tugs as he’s taken to the right wall, under the beam.

“What’s the passphrase?” asks Abby.

She doesn’t answer, her mouth shut and chest frantically moving up and down. At the doctor’s sign Bellamy’s pushed to climb on an unsteady metal barrel. He conspicuously swallows finding the rope so close to his face and his eyes snap to Clarke for what might be the last time.

She’s shaking. She’s terrified. Her blue eyes fixed on him seem like they’re apologizing to him; he wants to comfort her but he can only shoot her a reassuring half smile, even though he himself is scared. He doesn’t want to die: he wants to live to earn his sister’s forgiveness and of everyone he disappointed, he wants to be able to forgive himself. The grounders put the noose around his neck.

“No..” Clarke whispers.

An idea! She needs an idea, dammit!

The barrel under his feet sways.

“Don’t…” her voice barely more than a murmur.

“The passphrase Clarke”

“I can’t! I-I can’t!” silent tears roll down her cheeks. She feels like she’s losing her mind.

They’ll kill him! They’ll kill him and she can’t stop them!

A loud clang and Bellamy’s feet are dangling in the air. The rope crushes on his trachea keeping air from reaching his lungs.

“No!” he hears Clarke screaming and weeping.

“Please! Please!”

Her mother? A.L.I.E.? She herself doesn’t know who she’s begging. She desperately tries to untie her wrists. She has to get him down. How long has it been?

His sight’s growing dim and he almost doesn’t feel his legs anymore. Is this how it all ends for him then?

His movements are getting slower and weaker.

“No stop! Stop!”

She’s losing him. She’s losing Bellamy. Bellamy isn’t breathing anymore.

Something snaps inside her: she made a decision without even realizing it. She’s taking a breath to scream when the door violently bursts open and two people, carrying a rifle each, shoot at the grounders and Abby. The three of them fall on the ground and for a moment Clarke thinks with horror they’re dead. The cold in her veins stops as soon as she notices on her mother’s arm a white and red dart: it’s the sedative the Mountain Men used.

Miller runs to her while Murphy quickly cuts the rope keeping Bellamy up in the air and he falls with a heavy thud. Clarke briefly notices Miller freeing her – blood flows almost painfully in her numb hands – as focused as she is on the defenseless figure lying on his back on the floor. As soon as she realizes she’s able to move she rushes to him; Murphy has already loosened the rope so with shaking and careful hands she completely removes it from his neck and, with the heart in her throat, she puts her hear on his chest. She can hear it… the pulse is slow, but his heart beats decisively and unwavering, and to Clarke is the most beautiful melody in the entire world. She lifts her head to watch carefully his face: on the neck is noticeable the rope’s red mark, the lips on his dried-blood stained face are half parted and his eyes, closed up until a moment ago, are now slightly open and two stones of bright onyx are looking at her. She didn’t even realize she started crying again – tears of joy this time. He’s here, alive; he’s even half smiling infecting her as well. In a matter of seconds relief gives way to the feeling of almost losing him that, overbearing, causes new tears in her eyes. She hugs him and fears she might have hurt him – he’s covered in wounds and bruises after all – but he doesn’t finch, rather his arms go up to her back and cling to her.

“Bellamy, Bellamy, Bellamy..” squeezing her eyes she incessantly sobs his name, as if assuring herself he’s real.

“It’s all right Clarke, it’s okay..” he clasps her a little tighter. This time it’s not a lie; everything is really okay because they’re injured and tired, but they’re alive.

They’re barely aware of Murphy’s sarcastic remarks – they don’t even know why he’s here, for starters – or of Miller updating them on the situation.

They grasp some words: “Three days.. getting back ammo.. the others are coming” but they’ll take care of that a bit later.

Every single cell in Bellamy’s body hurts and he greets each pang happily, while the girl in his arms keeps listening to his heartbeat: the universe stopped in that moment.

“I was going to say it” suddenly whispers Clarke, still in his grasp and with trembling voice.

“What?” he replies confused.

After a beat she goes on.

“I was going to tell them the passphrase”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!  
> This was my absolute first fanfiction in this fandom, and I remember I spent three months writing it. Translating this reminded me why I love this two so much.  
> Obviously when I saw that infamous scene - which also gave this fanfiction its title - my mind started drifting and I thought "What if Murphy didn't arrive in time to save Bellamy?", so this is what I thought would happen.  
> Comments and kudos are the highlight of my day and I really love to talk with you, so please let me know what you think!


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